Chapter 523: The Banquet

A grand welcome banquet was held at the lord’s manor—the first event of such scale since the completion of this large building.

Gawain was not one for parties. Heddy and Rebecca, though born into noble families, weren’t particularly enthusiastic about banquets either—mainly because they were short on funds. Yet even without much interest, they understood the necessity of such gatherings in high society. A well-planned banquet often carried political, economic, and even military significance. It was a chance to showcase the host’s wealth and, in a relaxed atmosphere, to seal deals that elsewhere might require negotiations at swordpoint. It was undeniably worthwhile.

Gawain had yet to build a traditional “castle” in the noble fashion. He preferred a comfortable home, so even as his domain grew, he only expanded and added to the manor. Around the courtyard, he had set aside space for future auxiliary buildings. Eventually, the manor would become something between a castle and a palace—a novelty for the northern duchess and princess visiting from afar.

Inside the main hall where the banquet was held, musicians from the Leslie region played soothing, pleasant tunes. After a few light dance pieces, guests began to help themselves to the food laid out along the massive tables flanking the hall. Men and women dressed in splendid formalwear—envoys from the capital, the “new nobility” of the southern lands still eligible to attend, and important officials and their families from the Duchy of Cecil—mingled and moved about. Victoria glided through the crowd like a delicate snowflake and approached Gawain.

“How do you find it?” Gawain asked, raising his glass as he looked at the northern duchess before him. “This place must be quite different from what you’re used to.”

“There are fewer nobles and more powerful officials. It’s definitely very different from the noble banquets up north, and the rules here are much looser.”

“Too many formalities can be stifling. Back in our day, we didn’t fuss over such things. Honestly, those young people chasing after classical noble etiquette should try one of our Cecil self-service banquets. If you want true tradition, you should learn from an old-timer like me.”

Victoria paused, a faint, somewhat stiff smile crossing her lips. Then she looked around, taking in the tidy, bright hall and the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the distance. She couldn’t help but remark, “Your ‘castle’ is even more impressive than this banquet… I’ve never seen a castle like this before. It seems you didn’t design it as a fortress… and you didn’t build barracks in the courtyard?”

Gawain chuckled. “Barracks? My troops wouldn’t fit in the courtyard anyway. Besides, old-style castles are damp and cold. You have to light a fireplace in every room just to make them barely livable. To me, a house like this is far more comfortable—I’m a seven-hundred-year-old man, after all.”

“Then you’re probably the healthiest ‘elderly’ person in the world,” Victoria said with a hint of helplessness. She wasn’t one for jokes, but when faced with a witty elder, she had to keep up. “I noticed there are no fireplaces here—is the castle heated by magic?”

“The heat source is a fire elemental array underground, connected to a copper heat exchanger system that distributes warmth throughout the building. The walls have cavities with metal pipes and brick channels,” Gawain explained. “Not just here—most buildings in this city have similar setups. There’s a large heat station in the district that supplies warmth to the entire neighborhood. I designed it.”

Victoria’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean… every home in this city is as warm as this one?”

Gawain nodded. “Of course. In fact, some newer buildings are even warmer. This house has a first-generation heat exchanger and older pipe designs—I’m planning to replace it next year.”

Victoria didn’t catch the last part. Instead, she wore a look of disbelief. “To build something like this across the entire domain… that must be quite a challenge.”

“It’s not easy, but luckily we have magitech,” Gawain smiled, meeting the duchess’s gaze and watching every flicker of expression. “And if we plan well and provide centralized heating for the whole district in a uniform way, it actually consumes less energy. Isn’t that better than every household burning wood or coal and freezing every winter?”

The duchess was silent for a moment.

Cecil City—a rapidly rising city in this “barren land”—was astonishingly advanced.

It reminded her of the City of a Thousand Towers, where she had once lived for magical studies in the Violet Kingdom. That mage capital was equally advanced, its pervasive magic powering the city like a living organism. Yet, when compared, Cecil City and the City of a Thousand Towers were strikingly different.

This newly risen city might lack the deep heritage and weathered grandeur of the older city, but its advancements penetrated every aspect of life, reaching even the common folk.

Is this the power of magitech? What exactly is magitech?

After a brief silence, she finally spoke. “Since setting foot on this land, I’ve been thinking about what magitech really is. I thought the walls of the Rock Fortress were magitech. I thought those vehicles were magitech. I thought the street lamps and the heating system in this house were magitech. I thought it was just a kind of magic—a new, convenient spell… but now it seems it’s even more complex and novel than I imagined.”

Gawain said nothing, simply nodding to encourage her to continue.

After a moment’s thought, Victoria Wilde spoke again. “Magitech—it’s meant for ordinary people, isn’t it?”

“Ordinary people can indeed master it and benefit from it.”

Victoria took a deep breath.

She didn’t ask Gawain about the principles behind the technology—that would make her seem naive and abrupt. Nor did she ask if he understood what it meant to put magical power into the hands of common folk. She didn’t believe the pioneers of this technology were unaware of the implications. Instead, she fell silent for a moment, then shifted the topic. “You used it to arm your army and defeated the coalition of over forty southern nobles?”

Gawain smiled, and Rebecca’s voice came from nearby. “They were the ones who attacked us first!”

Victoria turned to see the heir of Cecil standing there, holding a piece of cake. Her eyes were wide, a bit of cream still at the corner of her mouth, and her face was full of pride. Then the girl suddenly exclaimed, “Wow—Auntie said I’m not allowed to interrupt today…”

“It’s alright, we’re just chatting,” Victoria nodded at Rebecca. “You look lovely today, Lady Rebecca.”

Rebecca only realized the greeting when Victoria addressed her. Flustered, she set the cake aside and tried to curtsy properly, recalling what little etiquette she had learned. “Hello, Duchess Wilde. You look… um—”

She suddenly caught what Victoria had called her.

Gawain stood quietly nearby, smiling as if he already knew everything.

“Lady… Marquis?” Rebecca blinked, pointing at herself as she asked the duchess, “Are you talking about me?”

“Isn’t it so? According to Ansu law, the eldest noble heir who has come of age automatically inherits a noble title one rank lower before formally inheriting the main title,” Victoria said, but her words were clearly meant for more than just Rebecca. “Gawain, Duke of Cecil, has already developed lands in the southern region fitting his rank. According to the agreement made at Silver Fortress, the rights the Cecil family should enjoy have been restored.”

Her gaze settled on Gawain, who simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Victoria’s expression remained unchanged, but inside she sighed quietly.

Just as Welsh Morin had said—once something is in the other’s hands, it’s no longer a gift. For such an ancestor-level figure who need not care about the Second Dynasty’s attitude, recognition from Saint Sunir was meaningless.

Rebecca was a little confused. She knew about the “Silver Fortress agreement” because she had been there when it was made. Back then, her ancestor reclaimed a permanent development right from Francis II dating back seven centuries. The Second Dynasty recognized the ducal title but added conditions: Gawain Cecil’s ducal title would be a personal, permanent honor, not hereditary—unless he could develop lands worthy of a duke during his lifetime. Only then could the ducal title and related powers be restored.

At the time, the bigwigs at Silver Fortress thought her ancestor would never develop a duchy from the wasteland in his lifetime.

In fact, he didn’t develop a duchy from the wasteland—he wiped out the southern nobles. That was completely different from what was originally said…

Rebecca, the new Lady Marquis of Cecil, blinked her big eyes. Her mind, more used to dealing with machines and fireballs, tried to calculate the difference between “taking over unclaimed land after defeating others” and “truly unclaimed wasteland.” Before she could figure it out, she saw her ancestor casually chatting with the duchess as if nothing was unusual. Neither seemed to mention the details of the old agreement.

Rebecca thought for a moment and suddenly realized how ruthless politics could be—everyone could shamelessly bend the rules.

Before Gawain, Victoria raised her glass slightly. “With the kingdom in turmoil, having a strong guardian duke defending the southern lands has put many minds at ease in Silver Fortress.”

Gawain raised his glass with a smile. “That’s wonderful to hear—it seems this old man is still quite popular.”

The two guardian dukes toasted each other politely, exchanging pleasantries while their thoughts ran in the opposite direction. The photographers holding magic-net terminals on one side of the hall captured the perfect shot.

Soon after, Gawain prepared to leave. As the host, he had many guests to attend to.

There was much left unsaid between him and Victoria Wilde, but he wasn’t in a hurry. The truly important matters would be discussed after the banquet.

Watching her ancestor turn to leave, Rebecca waved her hand. “Ancestor—can I have a few more pieces of cake today?”

Gawain didn’t look back. “Just don’t overeat.”

“Hey! I know!”

A moment later, Rebecca had another plate of cake in her hand. The newly minted marchioness beamed with delight as she boasted to Victoria, “You really should try this—Mr. Bowerside’s cakes are just as delicious as the roast he makes.”

So carefree.

Victoria Wilde watched Rebecca—the young lady who already had cream smeared on her face and behaved in a way that hardly seemed fitting for a marchioness—and couldn’t help but shake her head.

“Not eating?”

“No, I’m just a little envious of you.”

(End of chapter)